Sherlock's Worrying Habbit
by Goddess of the Keyblades
Summary: John is concerned about Sherlock's habbit of not eating. What will it take to get Sherlock to eat between cases? Written as a friendship fic, but can be read as JohnLock. OneShot. Rated T for suggestive themes.


**This can be read as JohnLock, or as just an odd moment between the pair.**  
**Personally, I don't ship JohnLock, but hey, If you do, I'm cool with that. XD**  
**They are a little OoC. Actually, I don't like how I wrote their characters at all, but I wanted to publish it because I think the scenario is funny. ='D**  
**But anyway, enjoy, and please review.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Sherlock or any of the characters. =3**

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My dear friend Sherlock has the most bizarre and worrying habits. He will indulge himself with way too many nicotine patches, he rarely ever sleeps, and I am pretty sure he has a stash of drugs hidden somewhere in our flat. But the one that tends to worry me the most is the fact that he refuses to eat anything whilst solving a case. This isn't quite as bad when the case takes only a few days to solve, but I remember one case that took just over a week, and still he insisted he wouldn't eat a thing.  
Until he passed out with hunger.  
We where staying in a hotel in the North of the country at the time, with our latest client, Rupert Hobbs. It had been at least 6 days, and Holmes being the stubborn thing he is had not eaten the smallest thing in that time.  
He had, reluctantly, been drinking water, as he had often told me that 'It is possible to last 3 weeks on water alone, therefore, I do not need to eat'.  
I sighed and said 'But, its not healthy! You must eat something, its been 6 bloody days!'  
Sherlock deliberately ignored me, and got up from the sofa he was sitting on, wobbling slightly as he did so. You could tell he was feeling faint, but he still refused my offers of food. Instead, he we walked out of the door. '  
Where are you going?' I asked, slightly exasperated.  
'Out' replied Sherlock sharply, and said no more.  
I sighed again, must he really be this difficult? I jumped up from my seat and ran after him.

We walked in silence through the hotel garden, and down a footpath that lead to the local park. In the sunlight, Sherlock looked very pale, and his eyes had a delirious glaze over them. I knew that it would only be a matter of time before he passed out, and I was right. About half a mile away from the hotel, he fell to the floor. I reached out to grab the falling detective, but I was too slow, and he fell face-first into the grass. At least it was a soft-ish landing, but still I cursed myself for allowing him to hit the ground. I dashed to his side, and slapped his face gently, but he was out cold. The only thing I could do was lift him back to the hotel.  
So I did.  
Luckily, he isn't a heavy man. This is probably something to do with the fact that he starves himself on a regular basis. I scooped him up in my arms, and carried him back to our room. There was no-one on the desk in the hotel, which was good, as I didn't care to explain why I was holding an unconscious man. I walked to our door, and gently propped him against the wall while I found the keys, then half carried, half dragged Holmes into the room. I carefully placed him on the sofa, and went to the phone to order room service.  
About an hour later, Sherlock regained consciousness. He groaned and sat up, rubbing his head.  
'Will you eat _now_?!' I asked him, a slightly sarcastic tone to my voice. Sherlock looked confused for a moment, until I saw a trace of remembrance flicker across his eyes.  
'I've told you, not until the case is solved.'  
'And I've told you, you need to eat!' I said, feeling myself getting rather irritated with the stubborn man. He may be the smartest person I know, but he has the common sense of a six year old at times.  
'I ordered you some food anyway' I continued, ignoring the fact that he was sulking. 'Its on the coffee table, and it would be a waste for you not to eat it'  
Sherlock looked towards the plate set upon the table in front of him. 'Burger and salad?' he said. He sounded disapproving. 'You moan at me for not eating, then you give me a meal full of calories and cholesterol.'  
'You are way to skinny. You need fattening up. Plus, I knew you would say that, so I got them to replace the chips with salad. Nice try, but there is no excuse. Now for Goodness sake, eat the damn food!'  
My words earned me that famous glare of his.  
'Sherlock! You WILL eat this, even if I have to pin you to the ground and force it down your throat!'  
Sherlock finally cracked a smile. 'You wouldn't do that. I can tell. Your facial expression gives everything away, and its currently telling me that you have no intention of doing such a thing.'  
I raised an eyebrow. 'Oh, really?'  
I jumped towards him, knocking him to the floor. I sat upon his stomach and laughed as he tried to break free of my restraint. That had proven that big headed sod wrong! 'See, if you'd only eaten when I said you should, you'd have the strength to push me off of you' I taunted. 'Now, eat this!'  
I grabbed a handful of salad and put it to his mouth. He kept his lips firmly closed and shook his head.  
'Seriously, it's come to this?' I said, exasperated. I grabbed hold of his nose, knowing that he couldn't hold his breath for long, and waited. He went an alarming shade of red before he finally opened his mouth to breathe. I didn't falter, and I used this opportunity to stuff the salad into his mouth. He spat it out instantly, the saliva-coated food landing in the middle of my face. I wiped it off indignantly, and was about to shout at him when I realised that he was laughing at me.  
Sherlock? Laughing?  
It was one of those rare moments where my friend seemed to display emotion, and how could I be angry at that?  
'What's so funny?' I ask with mock annoyance.  
'This whole situation.' He replied. 'It's ridiculous.'  
I thought for a moment. It WAS rather ridiculous. I glanced at Sherlock, and he looked back at me. Then we both exploded into fits of laughter. We where laughing so loudly that we didn't notice Rupert walk into the room.  
'I have no idea WHAT is going on, and I am terribly sorry to intrude, but I have just been told that the suspect is innocent. Inspector Lestrade is waiting for you downstairs, so please come down'  
Rupert shut the door behind us. I could feel myself going a bright shade of red. I looked down at Sherlock and noticed that even he was, ever so slightly, blushing aswell.  
'Well... That was awkward.' I said, standing up. My voice was barley a whisper.  
'Indeed.' Sherlock responded, the usual cold tone coming back to his voice. Then he smiled to himself and I couldn't help but to smile too.  
'John'  
'Yes, Sherlock?'  
'Never do that again.' He said simply, and turned his back to me and walked away.  
'WAIT!' I shouted after him.  
'Yes?' 'Eat this!' I handed him the burger, now cold, from the plate.  
'But Lestrade is waiting.'  
'Eat it on the way then.'  
Sherlock made a disapproving grunt, but didn't argue any further.  
He took a bite as he walked downstairs, and I followed, ready to explain what had just happened, and hopefully put a stop to whatever rumours where already being conjured, before they could spread.


End file.
